Hello all. Bless you!
I am Sophie, some may know about me. The young Elf mother from Bucharest. A very dear friend of mine shared a story where both me and her were part. But this is not what I want to share now.
My daughter was born last week. She is precious! A beautiful black haired Elf child. She is my miracle. My wonder. I held her in my arms tonight, she sleeps while I try to get some rest in the rocking chair. Easter is close, the celebration of the Resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, a few days away. Holy Thursday night. Yes, when she grows up she will know what she needs to know. A lot. The traditions of old, real things. The traditions regarding proper celebration of Easter, the whole Lent and the Holy Week.
In Romania, we have traditions. Some are really ancient. Some, perhaps less so. But there is one I want to tell you now, since I am really worried about it. You see, we have customs regarding cleaning the house, decorating it properly for the Easter celebration. Cooking the traditional food. Passed on from mother to daughter. During Holy Thursday, we were supposed to be working the most.
My childhood was pretty good, I can not complain much about it. Most of my family was from Bucharest, the capital city of Romania for generations. In the time of my great-grandparents, I could say they were middle class, somewhat wealthy and cultivated people. One of my great-grandmothers was still alive when I was a child. I remember talking with granny Carmen when I was really little, as she was really delightful, and some part of me was fascinated by this connection with the ”ancient” past for me. Indeed, we Elves are naturally immortal, but not my whole family is Elven, I have mixed ancestors, and most of them just died, normal Human deaths up to today. (Me, my mother and my daughter are Elves, for example.) My granny died as a mortal, when I was still a child.
I remember that, sometimes, in the last months before her death, she was already struggling with her health and found walking even harder. She called me to tell me something. Old stories, traditions and especially one. You see, the fingers of her hands looked deformed. Like burned. In most photos, even from the time she was young, her fingers have been the same. Until one day, when she showed me a photo from the time she was really, really young. Before she got married.
In the photo that was her alright, but different. I felt like I was looking at one of the actresses from 1930s movies, if you have seen those, you know what I am talking about. And, there, she had normal hands. I remember staying on her bed, looking at the black and white shiny pictures, as granny Carmen noticed my look at the photo. ”Yes, darling,” she said, ”I wanted to look like Marlene Dietriech. I loved her, I wanted to be like her so much. When I look back now, it seems unbelievable.” She gave an awkward smile. ”You have noticed my hands, as I see. I used to have normal, healthy hands back then.”
A tension was in the air, she gave a sigh and said: ”You always make sure to keep the house clean, especially for Easter time. For now, you are just a child, but you will grow up, eventually.” Then opened her left hand and showed the fingers. I felt like a shadow on my heart, like before I was about to be scolded for something I did.
”You know, the Holy Thursday (Joia Mare), before Eastern, she comes.” Her tone made me reluctant to ask: ”Who?” But she knew all this and smiled: ”Her. Joimărița. The guardian of Joia Mare. The Day of the Last Supper. Back in the centuries before us, our ancestors used to burn fires in the yards. On the roads. In the villages lost in the forest, in the middle of the cities. We did it even in Bucharest, in the downtown. They said the dead come from today for the whole Easter period, up until Pentecost.” I started to feel chills. Granny noticed and smiled to calm me down: ”Have I seen them? I do not know. Perhaps. But for sure something happened that Holy Thursday.”
She gave another sigh, then she started her tale. I do not know how much I remember it in detail, I asked my granny to write it down, she has not. What I am about to share here is a combination of what I remember from that day, combined with information I know from my mother, with whom she also shared the story, before me. So, here it is:
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I was just a young lady back then. Pretty young. Not yet married, but looking for a husband. I was not in a hurry, since I was still young and wanted to enjoy life. But also trying to find Mr. Right while doing so. I remember the parties, the proms I was going to, all the social events. I struggled to emulate Marlene Dietriech. I spend a lot of time at the hairdresser for this, practicing her makeup, sewing clothes like hers. My poor mother was getting angrier, from time to time, at this, telling me I should take care of the house and the customs. On that day before this, I was so hooked into the event I was about to attend, where a certain boy I laid my eyes upon was about to be present, that she started to get really irritated.
”You know, young lady, the house will not clean itself. You always rely on me, don„t you think it is time to help me in a more serious way? All you care about is dresses and parties.” ”Stop it, mother! I am going there tonight, I do not care!” ”You know, you are calling her to come to this.” That really got me angry: ”Get lost with all those superstitions! Joimărița does not exist! There was always an old woman from the community dressing up for the part, Joimărița never existed. The old hag never existed! We live in the age of reason!” I almost yelled at my poor mother, who was my provider, my caretaker.
I remember she laid behind a bit, while I was all dolled up for the event, leaving my room in a huge mess. It seemed to me she gave a tear. I was an ungrateful brat. My mother mumbled: ”What would you do, if one day I will be just gone? Just like that?” I looked at her and it felt to me like she was using emotional blackmail. Did she? Probably not, I was just an ungrateful brat. I left the house and went to the event. It was fun, I almost forgot about the Holy Easter to come in the next few days. I did not care how inappropriate it was, not just religiously, but also socially, for older generations, partying in the Holy Week, but I went on with it.
It was late at night, the Holy Thursday night. I went home on my own, I did not care about traditions or urban legends, saying things about something you may bump into at night. The house was dark, but familiar. I went to my room, feeling too tired to take not just my dress, but also my shoes out. In the dead of night, I hear something at the gate. Hardly, I managed to get down the stairs and went to the door. The street light illuminated a strange figure staring at me. She wore a dress that was similar to my mother„s dress of that day. I started to feel cold, like something pretty bad was about to happen. I waited a few minutes, and she did not leave. I could not see her face, since it was covered in darkness.
I had the impulse to get to my mothers room. Yet, something on my mind keeps bugging me not to let the figure out of my sight. I went up to my mothers room. I wanted to knock at the door, but it was half open. I have had a very bad feeling about this, as I entered the room, my mother was nowhere to be seen. Nowhere at all. Even the bed was not made. Things are really serious now.
I rushed back to the stairs. I remembered the dress of the figure, perhaps my mom was out and locked outside the house, I needed to bring her in. I rushed out the door, although my gut feeling was screaming not to. The spring night was restless, the weak street lights made it feel eerie. The figure was still there. ”Mother, is that you?” No answer. ”Mother, is that you?… Who are you?” I could not escape the feeling that something terrible is happening now. Perhaps my mother has died somewhere and that is her ghost? Or has she lost her mind? I went closer and closer to the gate, as my heart was pumping fast. A gust of wind showed white hair moving from behind the black headscarf.
I brushed the thoughts from my mind and went to the gate, and faced the figure. I could not figure out any features. The keys were in my hand. Yes, this had to be my mother, she lost her mind. The figure backed up a bit, her gait looked very much like my mothers gait. I have little doubt left in mind now that this was my mother. I opened the gate largely and went to her. A gush of mind moved the scarf covering the face, at the same time she raised her hand up. No, she was not my mother. It was her.
Long white hair, blowing in the air: Her face was terrible to look at, her features sunken, her eyes like dark fire. She opened her mouth to show her sharp fangs. Her hand had long claws and held a bowl with burning coals. Just like the tales say. But, probably, upon all those, it has her terrible anger on me. Then the voice… The voice! A voice of angry, harsh and hot stone, said slowly, but clearly: ”I smell like dirt…I smell like an uncared house…” She pierced me with fire eyes, wanting to take me to shreds: ”I smell like a burned girl…”
One small scream, and I ran towards the house. I tried to close the door behind me, but she was already behind. Before being able to lock it, she opened it by force. Not much force, but enough to make me gasp and run on the stairs. I heard her slow, but steady footsteps, behind, as I stumbled on the stairs close to the end. I felt a little pain, I rose up, as the heart from behind was coming. I first ran to the pantry, where some garlic was. It was said she was repelled by garlic, like strigoi. I was throwing things in a panic, reaching a small piece of garlic. I closed the door of the pantry behind me, and started to crush the garlic into the door. She was behind. I was breathing heavily at this point, as her heat was behind.
The door opened. I looked without being able to scream at those black, burning, angry eyes. Her left hand with claws grabbed my right hand and started to pull me in the hallway. Her iron-like grip dragged to the entrance of my room. My room was a mess. I kept on screaming. She kicked the bowl on the floor in my room. I started to plead: ”Please… Please… I shall do it from now… I swear… I will do it tonight, before the Holy Liturgy… I promise…” She looked ruthlessly, as she grabbed both of my hands and placed them in the coal burning bowl.
It burned so much, so much…. The fear and the pain made my face being covered in a flow of tears, as the skin and the flesh on my fingers sizzled, like sausage on a frying pan… I could only mumble now: ”Please, please… I will do it, I will clean up the house…” She took my hands out, still sizzling, and whirred with that stone like an angry, calm voice: ”You have one hour. One Hour.” She backed down, going down the stairs.
I rushed up to the bathroom, to place some cold water into the fingers. It hurt so much. I had to improvise some kind of bandage out of a shirt, perhaps it was a bad idea, and started the pain in my fingers that made desire scream, to place things around, to take the trash, sweep the floors…
It was not working too fast or too good. I even screwed up from time to time, on some small thing, that made me even more desperate. Was I supposed to cook too? I hope not, I will not be able to cook too much, with the pain in my fingers. But I tried nonetheless. To make the dough for the cake, to boil the Easter eggs and paint them red, even decorate them. I could not work on the dough, as sweat and tears fell into it, but I managed to boil the eggs. I was getting ready to paint them, as I was with my left hand on the dough, when Joimărița entered the kitchen: whirring: ”One hour is up. It seems you have no use for your fingers anymore, sine you are so lazy.”
She came to me again with the black bowl of burning coals. I fell to my knees and started to plead for mercy. She grabbed my hand and placed them into the coals again. After a few seconds of screaming and crying and I passed out.
I woke up in an ambulance, with my mother next to me. She was really disturbed, speaking with the doctor of my state, the injuries on my fingers caused me great pain. I got, eventually, some surgeries to fix them, it was horrible but, in the end, I regained much of their functionality. At the end. My mother never told me where she was that night.
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My own mother always kept the house tidy and prepared the Easter celebration as best as she could. Her mother did as well. That, in itself, helped a lot in building great and beautiful memories of all of the period, that it is still dear to me now. They knew it and believed it all. They all knew it from granny Carmen. As for myself, I was kind of skeptical about it, especially after becoming religious, it felt like nonsense. But, after the supernatural things happening to me lately, I became less skeptical and realized this was my turn. I was now the mistress of the house, my mom was unable to function properly due to her health, I was supposed to be the one doing all. Me, a single mother who has just given birth. For a few days, a feeling of unease took over me.
I called my friend Helena, the Vampire, telling her about it. ”Kiddo”, she said, ”you have a newborn child to take care of. Do you honestly think that being would come on you?” ”I do not know. I am afraid.” ”I admit I never met her in person. Joimărița is powerful and dangerous. But for those who prepare the home properly for the Resurrection, no harm can it come.” ”Is she a demon?” ”Not sure what I can say on that. But, as it seems, she only comes this time of year and it is not too hard to keep out. You know, perhaps I could come tonight and help you a bit with your home. My own is already fixed, I never feared her, as I am a maniac of taking care of my home, some may call it OCD…”
I agreed. She came that night, my father locked himself out in his room, as Helena is pretty scary and dangerous on her own. And Helena„s time is night time, of course, that made things even creepier for him. I can not blame him.
She was really helpful. My daughter knew Helena from the time she was in my womb, she did not seem to be scared at all of her, like a mortal child would probably be. Later in the night, as dawn approached, she stood on my laptop, resting a bit, while I was breastfeeding, then burping the baby. I heard a noise at the gate. I went up cautiously there and I saw, in the dark the shape of a woman, dressed in some old styled clothing, with face covered in dark and white hair in the wind. I called silently on Helena, as my heart started to pump harder. Helena looked at the shape, then to me and said: ”Yep, this seems to be her. Pray, your house is fine and remember, think of The Lord Jesus Christ, not on this being, whatever she may be.”
I kept on looking outside. Helena continued: ”And, besides, I do not think she would dare come in with me around.” She gave me a wink. The figure outside left.
So, this happened the night before. I am safe, it seems, for this Easter time, and look forward to the celebration. I am grateful my daughter is safe. And I promise I will teach to do what she needs to be doing in order not to see that being ever.